


Champion

by egret



Category: Actor RPF, Damon/Affleck RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:53:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egret/pseuds/egret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben takes issue with Matt's talkshow remarks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Champion

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written in 2004 and was posted at the kindafamous.org archive.

**"I'm prouder of him for that than for anything he's done in his life."**  

**_\-- Matt Damon, to David Letterman, about Ben Affleck's poker championship_  **

  


  


Matt tried to get away earlier, but there were more interviews, and he'd promised facetime to some Russians who had helped with locations, and they had to stop and eat at some point, and it was past midnight when he got back to the hotel. Ben was sprawled on the sofa, snoring. A dinner tray with half a dish of pasta, an untouched salad, and two empty bottles of mineral water was on the coffee table, a Red Sox cap crumpled beside them. Matt realized he'd missed the game. He'd have changed his schedule if he'd had more warning, but Ben had called at the last minute, when it turned out the Democrats didn't want him at the convention. Apparently "J-Lo's ex" didn't signal hip electability. 

Matt showered and shaved, eyeing his action hero muscles in the mirror above the marble sink, pining for barbecue and beer. Later, he told himself. After this. This won't always work. Beer and roast pig ain't going anywhere. Think of Brando. He smiled to himself. He sorted through his discarded clothes till he found his cellphone and called his assistant. "Listen. I know it's last minute, but I need a late start tomorrow."

"You got Charlie Rose."

"When?"

"Late afternoon. Fourish."

"That's fine. Nothing before that, OK?"

"You're the boss." She yawned.

"Yeah, get some sleep. Thanks for everything today."

"'Night."

She had been great all day, keeping him on schedule, keeping things smooth. It had still been a long day. Matt stretched and heard a bone in his back crack. He wrapped a towel around his waist and went back to the living room. Ben was still snoring. 

Matt crouched by the sofa and shook his shoulder. "Hey. Sleeping Beauty."

Ben opened his eyes and frowned. That was always Ben's first expression lately. "What?"

"Nothin'. You fell asleep on the couch. Come get into bed."

Ben's frown deepened. "No. I'm OK."

Matt's eyebrows shot up. "You drove down here to sleep on my couch?"

"I'm not sleeping with you!" Ben shouted sleepily.

Matt stared. "What?"

"Nothing! Fuck you! Lemme alone!"

Matt stood up and walked to the windows. New York City gleamed beautifully back at him. He looked back at the couch. Ben had thrown his arms over his eyes. He used to only cry when he was drunk. Matt had known how to handle him then. Sober emotional Ben was a mystery. He walked back to the sofa and took Ben's hand, then pulled. "C'mon. Come to bed."

"I told you--"

"I know! Fuckin' chill! Just come sleep, Ben."

"Don't touch me!"

"No one's touching you, man. Just come on."

They lay side by side in the bed for a long time, not touching. Matt felt extra naked because Ben kept on everything except his shoes and his baseball hat. Ben swallowed loudly. Matt moved his arm so the backs of his fingers brushed against Ben's wrist. Ben pulled his arm in. 

Matt sighed. "OK. Well, I'm beat. Good night." He started to roll onto his side.

"Yeah, you had a real busy day," Ben sneered.

Matt sighed again. "I kind of did."

"Your movie opened big. That's very accomplished of you. A lot of demands on you. It's very exhausting."

"I tried to finish earlier."

"I don't fuckin' care. I didn't wait up for you."

Matt sat up. "What then?"

"Nothing. You don't gotta flatter yourself is all. I'm not fucking waiting up for you. I don't need your shit, Damon. I got enough bullshit. I'm not, what the fuck, some codependent little fag waiting for you to be proud of me!"

Matt flopped back down. "Oh for Chrissakes. You're such a fuckin' drama queen. What'd you want me to say?"

"Oh, what could you possibly say? It's not like I have any other accomplishments! All my work's just shit compared to your fuckin' action hero bullshit!"

"Fuck you! You got a fuckin' action figure!"

There was a long silence. Then Ben said "good night" and rolled onto his side.

Matt sat up again and turned to face Ben's back. It had been easier when Ben was drinking. At first. Then it had been less easy. Now it felt hard. He stared at Ben's arm where a stray beam of light from the city silvered his skin. Matt took a deep breath. "I'm sorry if you didn't like what I said. I was trying to keep it positive. Y'know, upbeat. I meant, y'know, you're a winner. That's what I meant."

Ben turned onto his back and stared at him. "It sounded like everything else I ever did was shit, that you could only be proud of that fucking card game."

"I'm not proud of the card game -- I'm proud of you! I'm proud that you're learning new stuff and taking it to the highest levels."

"Gambling stuff," Ben sneered.

Matt bit his lip and took Ben's hand. This time Ben let him. Matt stroked his fingers gently. Quietly, he asked, "You really want me to get into it on national TV? You want me to say how proud I am that you made it through rehab? That you fight that battle every fucking day? That you -- you came back? When it would have been the easiest thing in the world to just-- not? How fucking happy you make me?" His voice cracked and he stopped and swallowed for a minute. "You want me to tell David Letterman how much I love you? You want me to just do the joke for him?"

Ben squeezed his hand. "Dave's OK."

"OK," Matt whispered. He lay down again. He really was exhausted and sick of talking -- about the movie, about himself, about easy, safe, nice questions. Then he felt guilty. He shouldn't complain about success. If the movie had flopped, he would have had all kinds of time to himself. Ben slid his arm under Matt's shoulders. Matt sighed with relief and turned to press his face into Ben's tshirted chest. 

Ben held him close, stroking up and down his spine. "My little naked Matty had a long day," Ben crooned. Matt snorted, but snuggled at the same time. He curled his leg around Ben's hip and turned his face up to be kissed. Ben's kiss was hard and thorough and forgiving. When it finished, Matt was breathing heavily. He slid his hands under Ben's tshirt to scratch gently at his nipples. Ben shifted free and moved down to bite at Matt's. Hissing, Matt reached around to pull Ben's tshirt up and over the back of his head. Ben hurled himself upright long enough to shimmy out of his clothes. He lay close to Matt again and pulled Matt's hand onto his erection. ""I got your action figure right here," Ben smirked. 

Matt laughed. "Oh yeah, they're makin' 'em a lot smaller now, I guess." He worked his hand up and down slower than he knew Ben liked it. 

Ben covered his mouth and spoke low in his ear. "I forgive you for saying that, cuz I know you're nervous, Matthew. You know I'm gonna feel so big inside you, and you're gonna struggle with every inch while I'm fuckin' you, which you love." Matt shivered and wondered why his heartbeats weren't drowning out the sound of the sheets rustling. He felt like all his extremities were pulsing along with his dick, like his ears and toes must be jerking up and down. Ben nudged him and Matt rolled over onto his knees and elbows. Ben fumbled around with stuff on the nightstand for a second and then breathed, "Ah, Matty." He reached under Matt to pump his erection then slid slick fingers inside him, moving in time with the hand on his dick. Matt could feel Ben watching him, his best audience, his worst critic. He turned his head enough to look back at Ben, but it was too dark to see more than his silhouette. He spread his legs more and Ben knelt behind him, his hand warm on his back, his erection pressing, urgent. Ben said, "Matt? I don't know, Dave. He's done so much. I guess I'm proudest of how well he takes my great big cock up his ass." The pressure intensified. Matt pushed back and then Ben was inside him and moving inexorably deeper. Matt heard himself wheezing like an old geezer, but Ben sounded only a little breathless when he said, "We'd be happy to share with the audience, Dave. Ain't that right, Matty? You just bend over Dave's desk here and we'll show them how we do it. Maybe Paul and the band can play something a little romantic." 

Matt squeezed his eyes shut and pictured Ben's weird little scenario. It was actually kind of hot to think of an audience cheering them on. He lurched backwards and Ben moaned, then started fucking in earnest, slamming into him, not talking anymore. Matt tried to bear all the pleasure and possession, but it was too much sensation to contain. When Ben reached again for his aching dick, he came at once, pumping into Ben's hand, his shuddering body jerking around his impalement. Ben whispered, "Take it, Matty," and thrust into him again, a fresh assault on his hypersensitive nerve endings. Matt felt ripped open, open in all ways, totally open to Ben, and when Ben jerked against him, making his weird half-gulped come noise, Matt wished he could keep him from everyone else. 

Ben slumped against him for a minute and then rolled off. Matt impulsively kissed Ben's forehead. Ben's teeth gleamed in the dark, smiling. He kissed Matt's ear, and then his shoulder, and held him close. They didn't talk. 

Matt closed his eyes. They could order brunch from room service in the morning. He fantasized for a minute about going out to brunch, about strolling around the city together, stopping to pet dogs and joke about baseball. He was glad Ben forgave him. Not that he'd done anything wrong. It would have been wrong to tell the truth, to say, Ben's incredible, I love being with him, his directors haven't really handled him right. But wait, Matt thought, drifting off to sleep. Wait till my script is done. Wait till I direct him. When I have creative control, everyone will see how perfect he is. You can bet on it.


End file.
